Cradle and all
by Waterfowl
Summary: Lee Adama gets to consider his responsibilities and shortcomings as a man and a husband as Dee is arrested for Cally's murder. Set on the outside margins of 'Escape Velocity', season 4. Does *not* expose Tory's complicity in Cally's demise.


**A/N: It seemed unplausible there would no investigation into the circumstances of Cally's tragic death. More unplausible still it would seem the acute state of distress and despair that, eventually, brought on Dee's demise later on, had no previous emotional grounds. **

**So Dee is arrested for Cally's murder and Lee gets to ponder his responsibilities and shortcomings as a man and a husband. I keep consistently adhering to the narratively deductible assumption that Lee Adama and Dee were a) not officially divorced after the trial, just separated/estranged; b) were cautiously finding their way back towards each other up to 'Revelations'/'Sometimes a Great Notion'.**

**Set on the outside margins of 'Escape Velocity', season 4. *Not* AU in the way that it does *not* expose Tory's complicity in Cally's death, but goes with ultimately presuming it suicide, acknowledged by the characters up to the show finale. **

**Disclaimer: None of the characters, plot points, inherent to the show, belong to me. The 'Rock-a-bye, baby' lullaby belongs to the lore. **

**Cradle and all**

That was the one most impossibly insane thing he'd heard ever since the nuclear attack on the Twelve Colonies was reported. He fixed an incredulous stare on his father, working the words around what for all intents and purposes should've appeared an idiotic scowl, wishing fiercely the sheer ridicule of the matter would render it not happening, somehow.

- Dad! This is _Dee_, for Gods sake!

His father didn't seem inclined to join in on the good-hearted laugh over the unfathomable craziness of the suggestion, giving him a resigned glare over the rim of his glasses.

- I'm sorry, son. She turned herself in. I have to act on it.

- You don't honestly believe she murdered Cally, do you? – his bewildered grin faded, overshadowed by what the Admiral had every right to interpret as cautiously issued menace. He definitely meant it that way.

Fair enough, the news of Cally's horrific demise left them all beyond shattered. Chief was barely holding it together, or, rather, failing spectacularly therein, from what he heard. And Gods knew, he didn't quite have it in him to blame the man. He couldn't bet what he'd do, were he in Galen's shoes. Didn't want to even begin pondering the remotest plausibility. Going through Hades of Zack's and Kara's respective deaths had left him wrecked enough back in the day to anticipate something truly ugly.

But those were morbid accidents, or so he assiduously convinced himself. He wasn't sure he'd be able to take it, if faced with a choice, like Cally's, performed by a dearest one. Not that he had reasons to ever doubt Dee's stamina, of course, but he couldn't help shuddering, whenever the ghost of the idea managed to slip onto the premises of his conscious mind. It was a wonder Chief was actually trying to deal with pain, somehow. Even if through wrath and bitterness. But he damn sure was not going to sit back and allow a witch-hunt unfold to help Tyrol cope with loss. Not the one featuring Dee, anyway. His father, of all people, should have known better.

He didn't permit himself to spare much reflection over their status quo, now that he was off on Colonial One, for fear of succumbing to regret or letting languid sorrow and longing get the better of him, needing every ounce of concentration, he could summon, to get through manifold trials and tribulations of his new vocation. But she was still Dee. _His _Dee, if only for his innermost reference then on. No one messed up with her, but himself. No one got away with doing just that scot-free. Himself including. If anything, he was more than willing to get that point across.

- No, I don't. But she seems quite certain otherwise. I have to know what's there to it.

His father sounded tired and it appeared instantly too tempting to take advantage of that. What _could _there be to it, for Gods sake? Dee was overreacting, just like all of them. Cally's suicide was trigger enough, it figured. Hades, it was about frakking time even the most integral of them snapped. He'd take his time, definitely, figuring out why exactly in such irrational fashion, but an impulsive feat it was, nonetheless. He only agreed to deem it nothing, if not obvious, as much as Dee and 'impulsive' failed to add up. He wondered if, maybe, Chief's anger was not unjustified. Cally's choice, apparently, had a potential of inflicting a lot more damage to those left around, than it could ever cause her.

- Why didn't you confine her to quarters till the charges are dropped? No need to have thrown her into the brig right away. She's not a threat to the crew, Dad. – he did his best to keep the plea out of his voice, substituting it for what he hoped sounded like nonchalant conviction.

It would be okay, once he got the matters out of the official spin they were taking. He'd goad Dee out of misplaced guilt or whatever it was she was up to. How exactly, he wasn't yet sure, no more than if she would consider caring for his opinion, but he certainly wasn't going to waste a moment trying. He'd persuade his father not to spare the incident closer attention than it was due. It would be back to normal, or what distant semblance of normal they were used to those days, if he could only work that out of the bleak corner with 'tribunal' transcribed all over it.

- I was going to. She declined. Insisted, actually, to report to the brig.

He all but jumped at that, stare boring into his father's face with anxious precision, fingers clasping over the edges of chair arms, cold with seeping dread. That was… bad. No, scratch that, it was awful. Dee was never the one to underestimate her actions. If she should've persisted to be placed in the brig, she might as well have had damn good reasons for it, as much as his mind refused to wrap around the implication of that. He could feel a fine sheen of sweat coat his brow, trickling down the temple and all the way under his collar, making the starched fabric itch the sensitive skin, making his tie seem swollen with moisture around his neck, threatening to suffocate.

He harbored no illusions the aftermath of Baltar's trial was anywhere near settled. If his recurrent clashes with the President over each and every matter were any indication. The fleet at large and most of the Galactica were blood-thirsty still, rage and guilt unsatiated by acquittal. Cally was well-loved among the crew, incidentally. Putting a face to the fault of her death could prove astoundingly morale boosting, given the circumstances. He should still count, of course, on his father to never let it get that far, but in between his own discharge from the military, Kara's inexplicable return from the dead and Laura's fading away, there was a languor to the Admiral recently, a detachment of sorts, driving him increasingly apprehensive lest he should be facing the odds of what was to transpire with Dee alone. It struck him he might hardly ever regret the triumph of Baltar's verdict more.

- I have to see her. She might need a lawyer.

- You can't represent her. – the Admiral met his notably distressed gaze with imposing intensity.

- Why? – were his father's objections to allude to the fact they were still legally married, he was going to fight tooth and nail.

He'd make Romo Lampkin recite precedents and justifications at gun-point, if that what it took. If she were to ever end up in the court-room, his place was right there by her side. He'd resigned it one time too many already.

- You are not one. – was it just him or was there a tinge of mocking disdain lingering deep behind his father's words? Precisely the pitch and slant to render him truly concerned, if no less determined.

* * *

That was the trip to the brig he could never imagine making. Could never even occur to him to imagine making. After bearing eye-witness to President Roslin gracing the place with attendance, it would seem he'd seen it all, yet he was predisposed to deem it more likely to encounter his father behind the rusty latch, given an array of possible conditions, than Dee. Way back when they joined forces to break the President from custody, he had no guarantee Dee wouldn't end up there, had her complicity been uncovered. But hypothesizing and hoping for deliverance was one thing, spotting her curled on the cot in the meek, scarcely furnished confinement was a different one altogether.

His heart dropped just as a flash of fury - at Cally for leaving room for reasonable doubt as to the circumstances of her departure; at his father for going along with Dee's whim and locking her up; at himself, for not being there to bust that lunacy before it could ever unfold - soared up, blinding him for a moment. If he'd been sure of anything in his Gods damned life, that was she didn't belong behind those frakking bars.

He could tell she was not asleep, from the way her shoulders were tensed and breathing shallow and a tad too strained to his liking, though it was not until he made his way through the cell door, that she indicated any acknowledgement of his presence. He took a moment to make a painful mental inventory of the dark shadows, obscuring her eyes, of a pronouncedly more pale and gaunt look of her, than he remembered. The next mental note went to kick Colonel Tigh's butt for allowing the CIC crew work themselves to exhaustion. From what he could deduce so far it would appear she landed up on every frakking night-shift rotation since he left Galactica. Well, that was about to end as soon as she was out of that place. He'd have to see to that.

His father had got himself into a big one too, for indulging Tigh's sadistic streak at her expense. He was halfway into reminding himself what a pathetic hypocrite it made him too, to wallow in virtuous indignation when he failed to spare a moment from waging battles in the name of democracy and check up on how she was doing in weeks. Separated or not, he had no right to estrange himself from that particular charge. At least he was certain the indignation and heart-ache, stifling him, were genuine.

- Lee? – her voice rang weak and oddly hollow, as she finally shifted her gaze away from the wall and onto his hesitant approaching form. – What are you doing here?

He couldn't make out right away what stung deeper – the question per se or the subdued, feeble manner it was uttered in. Probably, the credit would have to go to the question, for the very implication she had grounds to doubt he'd bother to be by her side the first thing upon learning she was in trouble, made him cringe. Honestly, where else would he be? Last time he checked he was still bound by the vow to be there 'for better or worse' and had long abandoned any intentions to call it off, appearances notwithstanding. It was just in between the two of them she was usually ending up on the 'for worse' side of the deal, whereas he managed to claim most of 'for the better'. Until she'd finally had enough.

He had to gulp down a sigh. It had not occurred often that he was able to relate to his father completely, but at that very moment he seemed to understand what drove his Old Man so appalled as he inquired about the plausibility of being left behind, years ago when Starbuck went missing-in-action. Nothing hurt quite as much as realizing you ultimately failed to make your love and care known, let alone believed.

Bracing inwardly to tackle whatever was in store for them over the matter that brought them both into that cell to begin with, he ventured closer.

- I was actually going to ask you the same thing. What's for Gods sake got into you, Dee?

- I think I might have done it. – She was standing by then, holding his gaze with unsettling composure.

- Done what? – a renewed wave of rage was welling deep within his gut. If anything, that was taking a turn into some ridiculous cheesy comedy. – Done what, Dee? Doc. Cottle and Chief himself confirmed Cally was on anti-depressants and sleeping pills, disturbed and paranoid. Half the ship saw her freak out at the bar. Damn, she knocked her husband out to get his airlock key! Cally did it to herself! That was her choice and nobody's fault!

The guard was steeling queer glances his was, when he took the hint to stop yelling and stepped closer, his voice soft and urgent that time:

- Dee, I know you're upset. We all are. But it's just not reason enough to wire yourself into taking the blame for what you didn't have a way of doing. C'mon, Dee, I have the Admiral's permission to take you to our former quarters. You need to rest in quiet for some time. It'll feel better once you calm down.

He couldn't anticipate she'd actually pull out forcefully as his hand reached to stroke her shoulder and upper arm, the look she was giving him all but panicked and haunted by whirling torment.

- What if you're wrong? What if I had a way of doing it?

Dumbfounded silence and rapid blinking was all the reply he could conjure as she started pacing the cell, words clipped and brisk, fingers flexing nervously:

- I was there. Around that airlock. I remember meeting Cally on her way. She was carrying Nicky.

Right. Tory testified to have encountered a distraught and disheveled Cally in the hallway and taken Nicky to daycare on her request. He took a minute to study witness reports on the tragedy even before it was apparent he'd have to. Old habits die hard. He watched her stride erratically in front of him, unsure where that was heading and all the more apprehensive thus.

- She was carrying Nicky and then… then I just don't remember. The next thing I know I'm on the floor outside the airlock. And I can't recall if I've been in or not. Lee…

He didn't have to catch a glimpse of torturous fright in her eyes to wince out of his own. He didn't need her to spell out the rest of the morbid math she'd made: Boomer experienced black-outs while sabotaging Galactica. Boomer turned out a Cylon. What he needed was to rationalize all of that atrocity away asap, for her sake as much as for his own, before the implications took the form too palpable for him to ever hope snatch her out of it safely. So closer yet he moved, to halt her on her tracks with both hands firmly on her shoulders.

- You are _not_ a Cylon. You had your parents, and brother. You still have your father's knife. And we've got a picture of you as a child. Besides, if you were one – I'd know.

His attempted coy smile didn't do much to alleviate the sadness in the sharp breath she heaved, lowering her gaze to study their respective shoes.

- What if it's all a lie? What if that's not me in that picture?

Deliberating along those lines got him increasingly worried too, just not quite for the reasons she might've suspected. It actually borderline amused him that he was faced with a task of applying the condemning 'Cylon' tag to two people he regarded family in so many weeks – hypothetical supposition as to Zack would've made it three – only to figure out it didn't matter all that much, when push came to shove. Cylons and what they'd done to their worlds and kept doing to their fleet mattered, of course. But personal loyalty indeed had a way of working separately from allegations to the system or to collective agenda. That was precisely why he stopped short of testifying against his father contrary to Lampkin's insistence. That was precisely what could still keep them human. Dee taught him that. That was precisely what he lost sight of right before losing her.

But not everyone was at all willing to stretch loyalties that far. Not even his father. And the Admiral's jury was still out on Kara, of all people. Besides, he simply couldn't afford somebody, Chief himself, maybe, to pull another Cally and spread ultimate 'justice' with a single gun-shot, on that one.

His mirthful stare was confident and tinged with tender rue, as he drew her, stiff and unyielding first, deeper into embrace.

- It's _you _in that picture. Wouldn't mistake that grin for anyone. But we'll get Cottle to do your blood test, if you don't trust my word. Deal?

Motioning to kiss her forehead softly brought him instantly aware it was practically burning. So were her cheeks. He had to pull away, cradling her face between his palms, to catch a good glimpse of her eyes. Blood-shot, and dim, and ill.

- Dee? When was the last time you slept? – There was a darker edge to his voice her dismissive shrug did little to dissolve.

- Don't remember. I was angry at you. With you. With what you were doing. Couldn't sleep for days. Then you testified and said all the right things about our guilt and shame. Then Starbuck came back and you were leaving. And everybody left – Helo, Sharon, Felix. I'd get so scared at times if I close my eyes and fall asleep, I'd just disappear, without anyone noticing.

He listened to her, feeling his insides churn in agonizing disbelief, shaking his head in defiance.

- You should've said you were unwell. You should've asked for help!

- There was nobody. The Admiral has other things to bother with apart from my insomnia. And I do honestly despise Cottle.

It throbbed as a slap so far, but he had to go through with what was due said and heard long ago.

- You should've told _me_.

- You were supposed to be mad over my leaving.

If anything she said before hadn't got him gutted as it was, that quiet statement sure as Hades did. Mad he was feeling indeed, while the thud of the heavy metal hatch still rang in their quarters as she left. And abandoned. And betrayed. And oh so righteous in his claims. Right up to the moment when it finally clicked he must've been doing something horribly wrong to himself, if she couldn't put up with that any more. She'd stuck with him through worse, it figured. Was someone she couldn't accept nor forgive truly the one he intended becoming? Right up to when he took the moment to sort through his motives, only to figure out, much to his dismay, pain and guilt over loss of Kara, driving him to seek oblivion and condemnation, rage and spite over being persistently deemed a soldier and a pilot whereas him being just that had cost them Kara's life, and Zack's, years before, maniac desire to prove his father wrong over their respective integrities overshadowed heavily the motives that _should_'ve been there. Overshadowed the war that he should've been waging, instead. Dee could see that. No one could ever read him better. That was why she left. It infallibly evoked his wry smile that the pathetic weasel, Baltar, might never get to know it was to Lee's wife, for the most part, he actually owed the charitable verdict.

A kaleidoscope of events and choices was spinning ever since. The battle, Kara's return, Zarek's calls and prods getting more and more persistent, the prospect to get a chance of making long-term difference in their civilization more and more alluring, granted he managed to keep his reasons and motives straight. Which he learned the hard way to estimate how. It was not until he faced her on the hangar deck, honoring his discharge, probably, that it hit just what his alternate career option would ultimately mean to them. Imminent separation. It still ached to remember willing it not happening, as she was enclosed in his arms for the last time. Not believing it happening for real. But her eyes spelled no scorn or accusation. She gave him a token of the war he was never to lose again, in or out of the uniform, and that was all the blessing he needed. She trusted him to do right on the new path she couldn't follow by his side. Not just yet, at least. He felt compelled to owe her every effort to prove deserving of her faith that time around.

He didn't lie when claiming to be missing her. Miss her he did, profusely. Everything about her. The feel, and touch, and scent, and smile. The radiant silence and laughter in par. Compassion and vibrancy. And reverent awe all of the above never failed to evoke in him. But above all, support and judgment he'd come to rely on a lot more profoundly, than on his own. Believing her far better off without him than she could ever have been with, however, helped to deal with the nagging void, nestled firmly within his heart, whenever plunging himself into Quorum curriculum or a confrontation du jour with the President faltered.

That she should go about, tormented by loneliness and convinced he still blamed her for shoving his own inadequacy into his face, or plain didn't care, struck the cords of pain he didn't quite know existed. That he grew accustomed to need her without sparing much consideration if she, might, in fact, ever be needing him on her part, brought a whole new dimension of hurt into whatever brand of shame he'd ever endured around her. Guess, they were both wrong.

Oddly enough, relief was the promptest to surface from his wallowing. It felt surprisingly comforting to be wrong that particular time. So much so he had to conceal a sheepish smile within the crown of her hair, as he pulled her close again, without another word. She wasn't resistant either, any more, sighing quietly into his chest. Just shivering a bit.

For the second time that day he caught himself conjuring his father's choices from memory. From the overall look of it he was doomed to be making the same mistake. Assume that the dear ones were faring quite well on their own in his absence, or to relegate care, to be able to justify having to concentrate on more pending issues in the name of a greater good, be it that of the service or the civilian fleet. His father was never right on that one. And he would seem indeed a lot more like his father than he ever cared to admit. That definitely called for another fond peck on her forehead and temple.

It began to dawn once his lips connected with the dry, warm surface of her skin again. If she'd lacked sleep in days, maybe weeks, and was running a fever, as her body was expected to backlash with a vengeance, that would only make sense she would pass-out sooner or later, her mind shutting down in exhaustion. Could've happened anywhere, more than once, but the last time outside the airlock, Cally chose for a final destination, proved a tragic coincidence. He could never fathom feeling that glad at Dee's state of infirmity. The Marine guard could shoot him in the back, for all he cared. He was taking her out of the brig. And into med-bay. Right frakking now.

* * *

The blood-work confirmed what he didn't get around to doubt all along – not a Cylon she was. Just a severely sleep-deprived, fatigued human. He had to undergo the loftier portion of Cottle's grumblings, since she was barely awake halfway through the first droplets of antibiotics IV. Faced that particular gruff flogging without as much as a flinch. He knew better than to give the man specific reasons to kick him away from her bed-side.

Admiral Adama made his way through the curtains of her cubicle later at night, a book clutched in one hand. He knew the Admiral developed a habit of visiting Laura Roslin through doloxan treatments. Reading aloud to the woman. Didn't fool himself into denying what it was supposed to mean.

His father directed an inquiring gaze at him, not breaking the silence. He could bet there was remorse and melancholy rooted deep in the Admiral's stare, alongside obvious concern. Exactly the kind to match his own. They both dropped the ball big time, overlooking she needed their care no less than the two of them needed hers.

- She needs rest. The medication will take care of the fever. Doc. Cottle assured she'll be alright once she'd got full eight hours of sleep. – He wasn't quite meeting his father's eyes, his own not leaving her tranquil face, fingers clasped tentatively around her hand, thumb absently drawing small circles on smooth skin.

- Looks like you could use some of that yourself. Why don't you go to my quarters? Get a nap? – there was an almost unfamiliar warmth in the Admiral's husky whisper. He couldn't help smiling gratefully, shaking his head.

- Can't. I promised I'll be here when she wakes up.

- You could still carry that out. On all those sedatives, she won't be awake by tomorrow noon. Go grab a shower and some sleep. The Marine guard will let you in, if I'm still out.

The Admiral was a force to be reckoned with when on a parenting mission, or any other, for that matter, he had but to comply with a silent nod, earning himself an approving huff. Bill was headed for the privacy curtain, before turning mid-step, making it his turn to glance up in wonder:

- Lee, she'll have to stay here a couple of days, at least. You'll be needing a book.

He shared a knowing look with his father alongside a slightest of smiles, before shifting his gaze back to her sleeping form. In certain things he wasn't that unlike his Old Man, after all.


End file.
